In the fallow trees there is a silence of the thin air, through which there is silk idly waving and I pull it back from my face.
In the black heart of the woods which have been destroyed, embers keep the trunks warm and they pale and crumble backward from my touch.
The world unmade, and the bomb detonated, I am in two worlds which create duplicity and confusion.
I am a new spring. I am touching the tender greens with pale fingers. I feel the birds moving fast and empty eyes. I remember Adam's names.
I am... decimated. I am destroyed. I am in Hell. I have stitched the desert to the cells which created it and erased all I am inside by fire and refused to return it again to whatever beauty anyone ever saw in it. I'm not a ruin, and would never be a ruin, and I have made myself simply not exist but for a scar along the edge of the desert sand. I have unmade Eve and denied myself the rebirth. I'm a waste.
But I had no reason to, and I'm happy here, and I am carefully trying to...
Trying to find the smallest reasons in the shallows of the river, rounded like fish eyes, to hold close to me and tell me the things we're meant to be doing. It all could've been swimming there, in the river, forever, and I stopped watching because I was distracted and my quiet days of watching became lonely days of having nothing to watch.
I want to swallow the heart of this unmitigated rage. I want to murder myself the way a stranger would, because it isn't enough to just die. I want to be erased completely and washed away. I don't want my bones to live on, but I want to stop existing.
You drew up from inside me some girl I no longer feel I'm capable of being - your twin. But I am her, even right now, and why I feel I'm not her is because I don't understand who I should continue to be. I don't understand the limitations of her, and if they're mine. I just don't know who I am, and haven't for months.
I don't know... what the fuck... I'm even capable of. And it's this idea that makes me feel both alive and dead at the same time. That maybe I've surpassed myself, or failed us all, and I can't find my way back to my self-righteousness which would allow me to prove that I'm not a waste of time.
And Annik's reasons are that if I have to work so hard to prove I'm not, then to leave her alone and let her just be one. Because there is too much at stake for her which she can't lose; my voice of all things. Of all the fucking things, isn't she the one who is worth it to stop this need to change into the long-awaited butterfly we doubt so much the existence of?
To just stop trying to be and be. To just stop trying to be and be. I want to cut out my heart. I don't know who I am. You would only ever give me one answer.
I can't reach for anything inside myself to make anything I am feeling or saying make sense, except for you. There's a lamp in the warehouse. Did I push it over, or did I change the bulb? Is it cold or hot? Did I leave or did we stay? Is there anything here but nonsense?
Torn in half,
Annik
In the black heart of the woods which have been destroyed, embers keep the trunks warm and they pale and crumble backward from my touch.
The world unmade, and the bomb detonated, I am in two worlds which create duplicity and confusion.
I am a new spring. I am touching the tender greens with pale fingers. I feel the birds moving fast and empty eyes. I remember Adam's names.
I am... decimated. I am destroyed. I am in Hell. I have stitched the desert to the cells which created it and erased all I am inside by fire and refused to return it again to whatever beauty anyone ever saw in it. I'm not a ruin, and would never be a ruin, and I have made myself simply not exist but for a scar along the edge of the desert sand. I have unmade Eve and denied myself the rebirth. I'm a waste.
But I had no reason to, and I'm happy here, and I am carefully trying to...
Trying to find the smallest reasons in the shallows of the river, rounded like fish eyes, to hold close to me and tell me the things we're meant to be doing. It all could've been swimming there, in the river, forever, and I stopped watching because I was distracted and my quiet days of watching became lonely days of having nothing to watch.
I want to swallow the heart of this unmitigated rage. I want to murder myself the way a stranger would, because it isn't enough to just die. I want to be erased completely and washed away. I don't want my bones to live on, but I want to stop existing.
You drew up from inside me some girl I no longer feel I'm capable of being - your twin. But I am her, even right now, and why I feel I'm not her is because I don't understand who I should continue to be. I don't understand the limitations of her, and if they're mine. I just don't know who I am, and haven't for months.
I don't know... what the fuck... I'm even capable of. And it's this idea that makes me feel both alive and dead at the same time. That maybe I've surpassed myself, or failed us all, and I can't find my way back to my self-righteousness which would allow me to prove that I'm not a waste of time.
And Annik's reasons are that if I have to work so hard to prove I'm not, then to leave her alone and let her just be one. Because there is too much at stake for her which she can't lose; my voice of all things. Of all the fucking things, isn't she the one who is worth it to stop this need to change into the long-awaited butterfly we doubt so much the existence of?
To just stop trying to be and be. To just stop trying to be and be. I want to cut out my heart. I don't know who I am. You would only ever give me one answer.
I can't reach for anything inside myself to make anything I am feeling or saying make sense, except for you. There's a lamp in the warehouse. Did I push it over, or did I change the bulb? Is it cold or hot? Did I leave or did we stay? Is there anything here but nonsense?
Torn in half,
Annik
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